Moments
by LovelyJovely
Summary: Four times he didn't kiss her and one time he did.


**A/N: ****So this sucks and the title sucks and I don't caaare because it's Bolinora week and I want to contribute :/**

He doesn't have a single clue to what time it is, or how long he's been hovering over her in that cramped room of hers, but all he knows is that her forehead is hot and her face is flush. Even in the subdued light of the lamp on the girl's nightstand, he can see clearly – almost too much so – how prominently the pained, agonized expression paints the canvas of her features, even if she's crossed the threshold of her slumber for a while now.

Even as she sleeps, a sweet gift that came wrapped with stubbornness some several hours earlier, Bolin silently watches as she tosses and turns underneath the heap of blankets, mumbling incoherently every now and again. His face is creased in worry, and he reaches over her to brush the strands of hair away that stuck to her cheeks. The action leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, because he feels that that may be the only pathetic thing that he's capable of to try and assuage her rising temperature.

Tenzin muses that Jinora caught some sort of cold during her training a few days ago, during a heavy rainfall where she refused to leave, because she was so deeply in peace with herself that she couldn't break off that strongly spiritual meditation – no matter what the weather conditions were at that moment. She came home that night shivering, soaked to the bone. After narrowly convincing everyone that she would be fine – even some heavy persuading swayed her own angered mother into thinking that she'd be all right – she woke up that night in a cold sweat, tremoring under her heavy sheets.

She fell under the weather at the most inconvenient of times, too. That same morning, where she woke up shaking like a leaf, the annual council meeting regarding passing or vetoing a myriad of proposed laws for Republic City was about to be held. The most prestigious people of the city would be, no, _had_ to be there. That included Tenzin, as he was the head-councilman, his wife and Jinora's mother Pema, Korra and Mako, the Avatar and elite fire-bending cop pairing, Asami, Chief Bei Fong, and a few more people that were just nameless figures in his mind.

Which meant that he, obviously not someone of importance, was stuck taking care of Councilman Tenzin's children. Including Jinora.

Don't get him wrong; he _loves_ Tenzin's little airbabies, as he'd like to call them, but he isn't sure that he could deal with them for an entire day.

The beginning of the day was not the best; he was stuck feeding the youngest two as they fought over the last box of their Lychee Puffs cereal (which ended with neither of them getting their precious breakfast because Ikki had gotten too flustered and accidentally blew the carton out the window), and then hurried over to Jinora's room, brewing her a therapeutic tea and rubbing her back when she would cough so hard that she vomited into the basin next to her bed. Back and forth he switched from trying to stop the littler two's antics, to caring for Jinora, making sure that she wouldn't have to lift a finger. Some of the Air Acolytes finally offered their help with the littler children, which Bolin couldn't thank them enough for.

So he was stuck with the eldest airbender of the group, giving her his full attention.

But to be quite honest, he really liked Jinora. She was mature for her age, which Bolin respected, yet her few child-like tendencies still clung to her like an adhesive– whether or not she actually wanted them to. Days where she tutored some of the elder air acolytes in a calm, instructional and dignified manner, would also be days where she complained about the lack of deliciousness on her dinner plate. Or times where she maintained a very adult-like persona in front of her father's co-workers, accompanied with them would be times where she would tell Bolin childish jokes or complained to him about one of her recently finished book's ending. The girl, the more he got to know her, reminded him of Mako, in a sort of way: she nurtured of her younger siblings so carefully and dutifully, like a devoted mother even though she was barely a pre-teen, the same way his older brother did for Bolin when he was too young to comprehend anything – especially his parents' untimely deaths. Mako did so much for him, and Bolin never did anything in return.

And that's why it just kills him on the inside that he can't do a single thing to make the younger girl any better.

As he watches Jinora slip in and out of consciousness, reaching a hand out every time she comes to – only to close her eyelids once more, he ponders as well.

If he were Korra, he would have broken her fever the minute he suspected she had even a slight symptom with his magical healing abilities that derived from great waterbending. If he were Mako, he would tell her bedtime stories through whole night, ones of knights and princesses and seal-bears and goosebirds – ones he used to tell Bolin himself when they were little until he fell asleep peacefully amidst the coldness– until the yolk of the sun broke over the grand Republic city buildings the next day. If he were Pema or Tenzin, he'd make an ample amount of delicious foods and teas – teas that _weren't_ made from frozen frog skin and would smell delightful - and all sorts of tasty treats in hopes that she could eat away the sickness.

But he's not any of them. He's Bolin, the earthbender, who can't do anything 'magical' or 'amazing', and can only watch as she trembles and stirs in a feverish haze.

He's not sure how long he's been watching over her, but the day is now well-into night and everyone returned back from the meeting an hour or two ago with sagged eyelids and dragging feet, and they didn't waste anytime slipping into their beds and falling fast asleep.

Her face scrunches up suddenly, before smoothing out once again, and he keeps telling himself that if it were Mako or Korra or even Asami, he'd be doing the exact same thing; staying by their bedside and making sure that they were as comfortable as a healing friend could be. But something in the back of his mind, a swift taste of an afterthought that floats across his mind tells him that that's not the reason he stays with her.

Bolin want's to be with her, to make sure that she stays asleep, and, even if she wakes up, comfort and soothe her until the girl gets better. But he can barely take care of himself, let alone a child (how he managed to help her earlier in the day, he doesn't quite know) And he shouldn't be here. He has no right to be here, and was never competent enough in the first place – shouldn't she have gotten better by now? Maybe he did something wrong? He can't do anything besides hope she gets well soon, and that leaves a bitter feeling in his stomach. So he stands up from his uncomfortable position in the small chair that he stationed near her bed slowly and silently. Bolin doesn't want to, but the earthbender decides that it's for the best if her mother were at her side instead – even if he has to wake her up after a long day (He manages to convince himself that she'll understand. Wouldn't all parents?) His footsteps are light, refraining from trying to make any noise that could possibly disturb her from sleep and wake her up as he begins to make his way to the hallway, racking his brain to try and remember where Tenzin and his wife sleep.

He hears a hollow voice barely echo behind him, and he recognizes it instantly. "Bolin…" Jinora calls out to him sleepily, but, even though he can't see her face, he can hear the under-lying tone of need, of want, of rising panic, lacing his name. He's nearly an inch from the door when he freezes in place, turning around sheepishly, like a boy caught with his hand in the seaweed-cookie jar. He gives an apprehensive chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck – which he realizes is extremely stiff.

"Hey Jinora." Bolin says cautiously, taking notice to how unhealthy her pallor continues to remain, especially when she's shot up from her bed, grasping the sheets with a white-knuckled grip. He doesn't think he's ever seen her so disoriented, so lost, "How're you feeling?"

She ignores him, her eyes wide, hazy, but pooled in alert. "Where are you going?" Her ice-thin voice chimes in his ears, beginning to break.

_She's still sick_, the earthbender thinks to himself sadly, observing the sweat that beads and glistens near the younger girl's temples and hairline. The crescent of the moon shines high from the glassy window behind her, tracing the outline of her body in soft light, making her almost appear translucent, ghost-like. He jerks a thumb behind him and breaks away from her intense, almost flustered and panicked, gaze.

"I'm just getting Pema over here for you Jinora; she'll take good care of you." He smiles softly at her, "She'll make you that really good tea that you love; remember? You'll get better in no time!"

She stares at him blankly; the white sclera of her eyes a stark contrast against the rest of her dimmed face. He expects her to comply, to nod and agree that it would be for the best if her mother were to take his place. To say that the tea and toast he made her was absolutely horrific and that she wishes her mother was with her the first time around.

He never expects her to cry.

Her hands are suddenly balled up against her mouth, body shaking, before she lets out a small, muffled whimper that beckons Bolin back to her quickly, and then the tears begin to fall.

"I don't want my mother," She says hoarsely, her throat choking back sobs. Normally, Jinora is levelheaded, sensible, wise and strong beyond her years. He was there when she sprained her ankle several months back, and he didn't even see her show any sign of distress, much less cry. When she was air-bending training, moving as gracefully as swan-deer, and unexpectedly miss-stepped, falling from the rail she was balanced on and onto the ground, she merely shrugged it off. He's shocked; the earthbender's never seen her like this, so vulnerable and weak, fragile as glass. "And I don't need any of her tea."

Bolin puts a hand to her back, rubs the area in-between her shoulder blades in a circular motion as the tears drip from her face and onto the fabric of her nightgown and he smiles sadly.

"Sure you do." The older insists, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him, but she's still sniffling, bringing her fingers up to her eyes and quickly wiping them – yet the tears don't stop, "Your mom will make sure you feel better again in no time! In fact, I'm sure you'll feel as good as new; I swear, she's like a miracle worker. Remember when Ikki had that awful cold, and then your mother-"

Jinora jerks harshly away from him unexpectedly, and his hand recoils back, feeling as though it's just gotten burned.

"Jin-"

"I don't want my mother or her tea or her _anything_! And I don't want my dad or Korra or Gran-Gran Katara or anyone else!" She snaps angrily, and before he can say anything she continues, "I want you, Bolin! You've been with m-me this whole time and you haven't once complained! Not when I threw up, o-or when you had to constantly check my temperature…! So, please… stop feeling second best. B-because you aren't."

Suddenly, he can't seem to find any words; they're a jumbled mess in his mind, caught in the net of his throat. _'She's sick,'_ he keeps thinking to himself over and over again, repeating it in his head like radio recording until it sticks and he can believe it, _'she has no idea what she's talking about.' _He finally regains some sense when she presses her palm to her forehead and her body wavers from side to side, and he's able to get a firm grip to her shoulder and keep her upright. Bolin kneels beside her bed, and looks up at her, and she looks back at him, her eyes tired and red-rimmed.

"I know you don't think very highly of yourself." The younger says in almost a whisper, "I know that you may think that Mako is better and Korra is better and that everyone you think of has more potential to be successful than you do – I see the way you look at them… but, you don't realize that you're just as good as any one of those people. You don't believe in yourself as much as you should. And one day, someone is going to need you even more than I do and you are going to let them down." Her gaze never wavers, "So please, Bo, just stop doubting yourself and trust who you are."

Bolin is dumbfounded; he merely told her that he was going to get her mother to take his place, a shaded statement, and yet she effortlessly managed to undo his whole resolve. Was he that much of an open book? 'She's sick' he tries to convince himself yet again, but the thought dies as fast as it ignites, flitting away and he knows he can't fool himself anymore.

This little girl is able to see right through him. Has been all along.

He never knew that a child of her caliber could possess such knowledge... such wisdom. Suddenly can't help but look into her eyes, not at them, but _into_ them for once, and, _spirits_, do they look like old-soul eyes. He can almost see a thousand years, even more emotions, pass by in her blinks, her pupils, the brown irises like snow-globes that surround them.

"And please don't let me down."

To listen to her as she tells the boy – almost man – that she needs him, even if she's only eleven and dizzy with fever, is new to his ears, and it makes his throat clench and face scrunch up. But he isn't crying, he won't cry because it's _just not right_ that the younger one is sharing wisdom while the older breaks down. So he coughs and hides whatever he feels right now (he doesn't know what to feel) and softly grins at her. She sleepily gives a smile, child-like and sweet, back.

The pro-bender stands up. He wants to place his lips to her forehead, a friendly kiss, a hushed reminder that he'll always be there when she needs him, but instead makes do with pulling her into a hug. Her body is radiating with heat, her cheeks feverish against his collarbone.

"I won't let you down." He mumbles, and then feels her small fingers dig loosely into his shoulder blades when he embraces her tighter.

There's a prick in his eyes, and he swears to himself that it isn't sadness threatening to spill over. "Thank you…" He whispers it into her hair; and the earthbender is sure that girl didn't hear it.

She'll probably forget all about it the next day, anyways.

**So everything is Bolinora and nothing hurts.**

**Reviews are appreciated :)**


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